


Surprise!

by trascendenza



Category: DCU
Genre: Community: worlds_finest, Humor, M/M, Personal Favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men and a mysterious playboy bunny suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the worlds_finest holiday exchange, for wachey's claim ([mirror](http://superbatsanta.livejournal.com/7839.html)). As the summary would indicate, much silliness herein!

Clark emerged from the closet, utterly baffled.

"What?" Bruce glanced up from his book after Clark had been staring for a few minutes.

"I…" Clark sat down. "I was looking for that jacket you told me I could borrow."

"Yes." Bruce slipped the bookmark between the pages with one eyebrow raised. "You told me that's what you were going to do."

"Well. I, um." Clark turned to him, trying to find a delicate way to phrase his question and finding nothing suitable, he fumbled ahead anyway. "Why do you have that… bunny suit?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well. It's a suit. With, you know…" Clark raised his fingers up to his head and made the classic rabbit ears gesture.

"…bunny ears?" Bruce looked at him as if they were speaking different languages.

"Yes, exactly! It's just some kind of costume, right?"

"Wait." Bruce swung out of the bed, eyebrows knitting together. "There's a _bunny suit_ in my closet?"

Clark's fingers went up to adjust the glasses he didn't have on. "Yes?"

Bruce walked into the closet and it seemed like every noise in the house went dead silent while he prowled. He emerged holding a very skimpy but very _large_ playboy bunny suit in one hand; the other was clenched tightly at his side.

"I take it you have no idea where this came from?" He ground out, holding the fabric towards Clark like an accusation.

"None at all." Clark briefly wondered if it would be better to go back to Metropolis tonight. He was sure he could rustle up some kind harmless but occupying natural disaster if need be.

"Hm." Bruce stalked out of the room.

Thankfully, when Bruce returned, he was calm—at least on the surface. Clark didn't ask any questions and he hid his grin behind his mouth even after Bruce was asleep, because physically invulnerable or not, no one wanted to be in the path of Bruce's wrath.

*

"It's my size, apparently," Bruce offered nonchalantly before taking a sip of his coffee.

Clark came just this side of choking on his pancakes. "You mean… that…"

"According to Alfred, it would fit me to a T."

Clark set his fork down; his eyes went blank as he marinated on that image.

"He said they even took into account my short waist. Quite an eye for detail."

"But why would someone make that for you? It can't be a birthday present, can it?"

Bruce sliced neatly through his waffle. "A birthday present? That's a pretty safe one to cross off the list for anyone who knows me. But other than that—it could be anything. But that's what I need to find out. I don't put cameras in the bedroom for, well," he smiled in the particular way that made Clark wonder if he couldn't seduce a rock, "obvious reasons. But now I'm wondering if I should."

"Were there any poisons or tracking devices on it?"

"None that we could find. But I'm keeping it quarantined until I figure it out."

"Any leads?"

Bruce smiled wryly. "Well, if we're not talking about enemies—every female I've interacted with since I've returned to Gotham. And a few of the men, come to think of it."

"Oh, God."

"Exactly."

*

"It's completely clean." Bruce waved the suit in the air like he should shake the answers out of it. "This makes no damn sense."

"Did Alfred go through the mail? You didn't have an invitation to a costume party or anything, did you?"

Bruce considered. "Hmm, no. He didn't. I wonder how much has been thrown away since this has been in here—it couldn't have been more than a day before you found it because we do sweeps at least once every twenty four hours."

"Well, I don't know if anyone would have been sweeping for a pin-up outfit," Clark said, coming up behind Bruce and massaging his shoulders lightly.

"Good point. Well—I'll tell Alfred to check the mail. He's narrowed down the costume shops to three different places, so I'll probably stop by those tomorrow."

Clark placed a light kiss on his neck. "Why not let me?"

Bruce leaned his head back. "Well, you're not exactly a detective Clark. No offense."

Clark bit at his ear playfully. "That may be true, but I am pretty good at getting my interview." His lips found Bruce's and his hands slipped up under Bruce's shirt, pulling him close. "And I do have some very persuasive methods." He kissed Bruce slowly, matching his caresses to their intensity, letting his tongue explore and tangle with Bruce's until they were both breathless and wearing far too many clothes.

Bruce fell back into him, his laughter low and husky.

"You've convinced me."

*

Clark had double checked the address, but sure enough, he was right back where he started. Someone in the _Wayne Manor_ had ordered this suit? The mind—his mind in particular—boggled.

He ascended the steps up to the service floor. All the activities that went into keeping this household running were managed on this floor and in the kitchen. He was just grateful he didn't have to go in the kitchen—Mrs. Beale did not brook anyone coming into her territory without permission. Sometimes he could hear her sharpening knives and sanding her wooden spoons long after her official shift ended.

Room 213 was nothing unusual, and he did a very quick peek through the door to make sure there were no trip wires or other devices awaiting him. Not that there was any way such devices would survive long in a manor where half the employees were black belts and all the senior staff knew how to disarm a bomb.

Bruce was lucky he was such a good actor, otherwise someone on staff might start to wonder about why he was so paranoid. But his fortunate was large enough that it was warranted, and as the head of Wayne Corp. alone he'd accumulated a number of enemies.

He knocked on the door politely and blinked at the empty space when the door opened.

"Can I help you, Mr. Kent?" A small voice from below him asked.

"_Amelia_?" He wouldn't have been less surprised than if he'd found Perry White behind the door.

"Did you need to talk to my mom, Mr. Kent? She's down in the kitchen…"

"Oh, dear." He leaned against the door frame and burst into uncontrollable giggles, much to Amelia's confusion.

*

Her 11-year-old earnestness somehow made the whole situation funnier.

"Well, I saw that in one of my dad's magazine once. When I asked him about it, he said that sometimes when men are sad, they look at those pictures to cheer themselves up."

"But why did you think Mr. Wayne needed one?" Clark said, using every ounce of his willpower to stay in professional reporter mode.

"He seemed so sad at his birthday last year. Mom said it's because he's got so much money he doesn't know what to do with it, and that man who can't do something with himself will never be happy." She tilted her head. "Does that make sense to you, Mr. Kent? She used to yell at daddy about that a lot and now that's why they sleep in separate rooms."

Clark put a hand on her shoulder, longing to reach out and give the small redhead a hug, but unsure what was appropriate.

"I think your Mom has known Mr. Wayne a pretty long time."

Amelia shrugged. "Anyway, I thought maybe if he could have one of those suits, he could be cheerful all the time. And daddy gives me such a big allowance I don't know what to do with it."

"And it's better to know what to do with yourself," he said, starting to understand.

She smiled. "Yep."

For the most part, he'd contorted his mental processes enough to wrap around 11-year-old logic, but there was still one thing he didn't understand.

"But why didn't you just wrap it up and give it to Mr. Wayne at his party?"

She looked side to side and leaned forward, whispering. "Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Kent?"

He lifted up his pinkie. "Scout's honor."

She took it gravely, whispering even more quietly, "I'm kinda scared of Mr. Wayne. Do you think I'm silly?"

"You want to know a secret?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"I think everyone is pretty scared of Mr. Wayne. But he really liked your present."

Her smile and the hug she gave him were worth the small white lie he had to tell.

Besides—he had every intention of making it come true.

*

He bunched the blankets in his hands, praying with every fiber of his being that this would make Bruce laugh rather than run.

The alterations hadn't been too extensive—they were close enough in size, after all, to share jackets and occasionally pants, so it was pretty negligible, really.

He was glad his mom had taught him to sew. Even to kill two birds with one stone he wouldn't face the mortification of having a costumer fit him for this particular outfit.

When the door slipped open and Bruce's bare feet (he checked his hearing three times before trusting it) padded into the room, he closed his eyes and threw the blanket down.

"Happy Birthday," he said, barely cracking one eye, prepared to superspeed away from the scene if necessary.

Bruce was as close as he ever came to dumbfounded, mouth hanging open a little and eyes traversing every inch of Clark once, twice, and then thrice, more slowly, for good measure.

"I take it you found our culprit?" Bruce asked, eyes lingering at the very revealing junction between Clark's legs.

Clark smiled with more nerves than he had.

"Our mission, should you choose to accept it, it to ensure that you get your full enjoyment out of your birthday gift."

Bruce came over and plucked the bunny ears off the bed beside Clark. "What, an earless bunny?"

Clark cringed. "I figured the rest would be enough to haunt me until the day I die." But, remembering that the idea was to cheer Bruce up, he took them and slipped them over his black hair.

Bruce looked him up and down once more. His head _started_ to nod in approval but was highjacked halfway down by some of the loudest laughter Clark had ever heard bubbling out of his mouth. He stumbled over to the bed, holding his gut, and Clark couldn't help but join him. The past two days had been some of the most ridiculous and confusing they'd ever been through together, and laughter that bubbled up was much needed and even relaxed some old tensions they'd both been holding in.

And after they'd wiped the amused tears from their eyes, Bruce's hands found their way under the black satin to incite his nerves, mouth blazing hot trails down all the exposed parts of Clark's skin. He ripped the puffed tail off but made tortuous use of the collar. Clark resisted at first, thinking—well, he wasn't sure what he thought, because just then Bruce scratched his nails down along Clark's back and he was growling low in his ears and their twin and overly constricted erections weren't helping the situation any—

What Clark found out when he stopped thinking and surrendered was that Bruce had no problem enjoying the birthday suit. None at all.


End file.
